To Drive the Cold Winter Away
by Rapunzella
Summary: Originally titled "A Winter's Tale." When Gavroche gets sick, Eponine and Azelma take him in. Then all three of them are thrown back out on the street, and the girls must find a way to take care of their brother. But they receive help from an unexpected source…read to find out who!
1. The Winter Wind is Crying

Snowflakes drifted down from a starless sky. Frigid air slipped in underneath every door and through every cracked windowpane. There could be no doubt about it; winter had taken over the city, and it was a more tight-fisted tyrant than any who had claimed rule of France yet. The freezing air had driven every citizen of Paris indoors for the night.

No, not quite everyone.

Gavroche crouched in the snow in a narrow alley, doing his best to defy the weather. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together, humming to himself as he did so. Snow was all well and good in the daytime. Gavroche was a valiant warrior when it came to snowball fights. Once, he and his friends had dared to venture out on the frozen river, but they hadn't gotten too far before a policeman caught them and made them come back. Silly grown-ups, always spoiling all the fun!

But when night fell, snow was his enemy, and a fierce enemy it was, not nearly as easy to outwit as the police. A bitterly cold wind screamed through the night, driving the snow before it. Gavroche crawled behind a garbage barrel to get out of the wind. A painful coughing fit seized his small body, and he realized he'd been coughing a lot lately. For a moment he wondered if he might be…no, impossible! He would never allow himself to get sick, he was tougher than that! He pushed the thought from his mind. He leaned against the wall of a building and pressed his cold hands against his forehead, which felt hot in spite of the cold. Winter might be strong, but he'd find a way to beat it. He had to.

Eponine trudged through the snow, wondering how much farther she'd have to go until she reached her apartment. It was sheer cruelty to make anybody go out on a night like this, but her father wasn't used to thinking about anyone but himself, and when he sent her out with a letter to deliver, she didn't dare to refuse. Now all she cared about was getting home. There was a shortcut she knew of just ahead. The wind howled; she pulled her threadbare coat tighter around her shoulders and took a step into the alley. Something stirred in the shadows. Eponine stopped in her tracks. She knew very well what could happen to someone who trespassed in a dark alley late at night, but she was a brave girl, and she was desperate to get home. She had just made up her mind to run through there as fast as she could, when she realized who it was lurking in the shadows.

"Gavroche?" she called out. She went to where she had seen the movement, and found her brother huddled against the wall. He looked up at her, and half-smiled. "Hey 'Ponine, whatcher doin' out here?"

"I'm on my way home." She could see he was shivering; his face looked extremely pale. "Are you all right?" she asked. Gavroche shrugged. "Guess so. You'd better get home, it's cold." He began to cough. Eponine knelt in the snow beside him. She put her hand to his forehead. "You're not all right!" she exclaimed, "Gavroche, you're sick!"

"I'm fine," said Gavroche, pushing her away, "Just leave me alone!"

"Leave you alone to freeze to death out here? I don't think so. You're coming home with me and that's final!"

"Mother said she never wanted to see me again."

"I'll deal with her. Come with me."

"How come you're so nice to me all of a sudden?"

Eponine put her arm around his shoulders and drew him into a tight hug. "Ain't I always nice to you?" she said in a gentler tone. Gavroche coughed again. "I guess."

"Well, you're my little brother and I love you. That's a good enough reason."

She helped him up to his feet, and together they stumbled towards the old apartment building she called home. The night was still bitterly cold, but now Gavroche hardly noticed. He was with someone who cared about him, and that was enough to drive the cold winter away.


	2. Till You Are Sleeping

Eponine and Gavroche trudged their way through the snowy streets until they reached the old Gorbeau slum, where the Thénardiers had made their lair. The concierge had gone to bed long ago, but she had left the door unlatched, and it creaked slowly open. Eponine half-dragged, half-carried Gavroche up the narrow, rickety staircase. When she tried the door of their family's apartment, she found it unlocked––no doubt Azelma had seen to it that her sister would be able to get in whenever she returned from her errand. "Come on," she said to Gavroche, and crept softly into the room dragging him after her.

The fire had gone out; snowflakes swirled into the room along with the wind through a broken windowpane. Wrapped in a tattered blanket on a thin mattress in the corner, Azelma dreamed of a place that was neither dark nor cold. The Thénardiess was snoring in her bed; Eponine sighed with relief that her father was nowhere in sight. " 'Zelma," she whispered into the dark, " 'Zelma, wake up. I need you." Azelma sat up, rubbing her eyes and blinking in the darkness. " 'Ponine? Is that you?"

"Shh!" Eponine warned, "Don't wake up Maman. Where's Papa?"

"He's gone out. What time is…" Azelma started to ask, but a cough drew her attention to the small, ragged figure leaning on Eponine's arm. "Gavroche!" Azelma exclaimed, jumping up from the mattress and running over to him, "Gavroche, remember me? It's been so long!"

" 'Course I remember you, 'Zel," the boy whispered hoarsely. He began to cough again, and she drew him into her arms with a sympathetic moan. " 'Ponine, is he sick?" she asked. "What do you think?" Eponine whispered, "That's why I brought him here."

"Maman won't be happy," Azelma muttered. "Never mind about her," Eponine replied. I'll deal with her in the morning." She led Gavroche to the mattress in the corner she and Azelma usually shared. Azelma pulled the rag of a blanket over him. "But where'll we sleep?" she asked in a low voice. "On the floor," Eponine answered, "Put your coat on. I know it's not great, but we'll manage for a couple of nights, won't we?"

Gavroche curled up on his side, pulling the tattered blanket tight around his shoulders. Eponine stroked his tousled hair. "Rest easy, you're safe now," she whispered in a tone that was almost tender, "I'll take care of you. I promise."


	3. Nowhere to Turn, No One to Go To

**A/N: Sorry, long time no update! I wasn't really sure where this story was going, but I started thinking it over, and it ended up taking some surprising turns (which will be coming up in the next chapter or two). Thank you to everyone who reviewed and added this to story alerts––you guys are the reason I decided to finish this story!**

Eponine had hardly dozed off when heavy footsteps came plodding down the corridor, and the door of the apartment creaked open. _Oh no, not him_, she thought. Careful not to make any noise, she rolled over onto her hands and knees, and crawled over to where Gavroche lay. She lay down beside him and wrapped her arm around him, placing herself between her father and her sleeping little brother. She hardly dared to breathe, listening as Thénardier moved around the room, muttering under his breath. She heard the clink of metal––he was either counting money, or evaluating the spoils of a night raid. It must have been the latter, for an old chair grated against the floor, the floorboards groaned once more beneath Thénardier's boots, and finally the door was pulled shut. Eponine pressed closer to Gavroche, and breathed a sigh of relief. She knew her father's routine well enough: his next stop would be the pawn shop, and then the back room of a café where the wine was cheap and the owner didn't care what customers looked like so long as they paid. He wouldn't come home until morning; by then, more than likely, he'd be drunk and too tired to care who was in the apartment. That only left Maman to worry about…

Several hours later, Eponine awoke to the sound of Gavroche coughing. "Shh…" she whispered, "Try to breathe. Just breathe." Gavroche moaned. "I feel awful," he whispered hoarsely, "A lot worse'n last night." He nestled against Eponine; she felt the heat of his forehead against her cheek. Azelma sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What'sa matter?" she mumbled sleepily. "He's worse," said Eponine, "His fever must've gone up during the night. 'Zel, get him something to drink." Azelma scrambled to her feet, and went to fill a cup with water from a jug on the table. Eponine moved so that she and Gavroche, whom she still held in her arms, were both more or less sitting up. "Drink this," she said, pressing the cup to his lips. Gavroche took a small sip, and began to cough, spilling water onto Eponine's shirt. Eponine handed the cup to Azelma; she rubbed Gavroche's back, trying to comfort him.

"What's going on here?"

"Maman!" Azelma gasped. She looked up to see their mother glaring down at them. "What's this?" Mme. Thénardier hissed, poking Gavroche with her foot. "It's your son, Mother," said Eponine coldly, "He was freezing to death out in the streets." Mme. Thénardier reached over Eponine's shoulder and grabbed a handful of Gavroche's hair, forcing him to look up at her. "You!" she hissed, "Ain't I told you never to come 'round here? We got enough to worry about as it is; the last thing I need is you hanging around."

"Leave him alone, Maman," said Eponine, with an edge of impatience to her voice, "Can't you see he's not well?" Gavroche coughed; Mme. Thénardier glared at Eponine. "And just what do you think you're doing, bringing a sick kid in here? Trying to infect all of us? Get him out of here!"

"Maman, please!" Azelma pleaded, "You can't throw him back out on the streets like this; he'll die!"

"Really," the Thénardiess snorted. "Well, since you two seem to care so much what happens to him, maybe you'd like to go with him, eh? All three of you, get out of here!"

"But Maman––" the girls protested. The Thénardiess seized Azelma's arm and yanked her to her feet. "Out!" she bellowed, "Now!" She threw open the door, and shooed the three children toward it. She pursued them down the stairs and out the front door. "Go on, get out of here!" she yelled, "And don't come back!"

…

The door slammed shut behind them. "What'll we do now?" Azelma asked. "Find someplace to get out of this blasted cold," Eponine replied. She looked down at Gavroche, huddled next to her, still wrapped in their ragged blanket. "Think you can walk for a little while?" she asked. Gavroche nodded. Eponine put her arm around his shoulders, and Azelma pressed close to him on the other side as they slowly made their way through the snowy streets.

So early in the day, not many of the shops were open yet; the few that were less than welcoming. One shopkeeper after another turned them away at the door with remarks like, "On your way; we don't want any riffraff hanging around here!" Azelma tried to gain some sympathy by explaining that their brother was ill and their mother had thrown them out, but to no avail: everyone they met seemed too busy with their own concerns to listen to their plight. Gavroche was trying not to complain, but his sisters could tell that the cold and the walking were wearing him out. Every so often Eponine would corral her siblings into an alley or a doorway for a short rest, huddled together in a tight knot to try and keep out the cold. "Could we try the hospital?" Azelma asked during one of these. "No good," Eponine replied, "They wouldn't take us."

"Why not?"

"Too dirty and too poor."

"But––" Before Azelma could finish what she was going to say, a door opened into the alley where they stood, and woman bundled up in layers of shawls stepped out with a basket to collect her frozen-stiff laundry. "Be off with you, you filthy beggars!" she snapped. "All right, we're going!" Eponine snarled back. She reached across Gavroche to take Azelma's hand, and, keeping as close to one another as possible, they continued their toilsome march.

As the shadows lengthened and the streetlamps cast their oily glow over the snow, the trio made their way toward the river. The bridge over the Seine was not an ideal spot, but Eponine and Azelma had been there before, and agreed it had one advantage: as no one else lived there, they were not likely to be evicted. The steps leading down to the river were covered with ice, making for a treacherous climb. However, there was considerably less snow under the bridge. Eponine took off her coat to spread over the cold ground. "There," she said, through chattering teeth, "That'll have to do for a bed. Can you spare a corner of that blanket for me, Gavroche?" The two girls lay down with their brother curled up between them; Eponine pulled the blanket over the three of them so that Gavroche was completely covered and Azelma mostly so. Gavroche pressed against her, whimpering quietly. "It's so cold," he moaned. "Shh…" Eponine whispered, running her fingers through his hair, "Just try to sleep, 'Zelma and I will keep you warm." In a low voice, so close Gavroche could feel her warm breath on his ear, but so quietly only he and Azelma could hear, she began to sing a slow, lilting song from the long-ago days of their childhood in Montfermeil:

_All hail to the days that merit more praise  
>Than all the rest of the year,<em>

_And welcome the nights that double delights_

_As well for the poor as the peer!_

_Good fortune attend each merry man's friend,  
>That doth but the best that he may;<br>Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,_

_To drive the cold winter away._

Gavroche's breathing slowed as he fell asleep. "Eponine," Azelma asked quietly, "What are we going to do?"

Eponine sighed. "I don't know," she said. "Wait till tomorrow." She closed her eyes and continued to hum softly, trying to shut out the worry that tore at her heart.


	4. Look Down and Show Some Mercy if You Can

**A/N: Thank you to AbbeyMellarkAlways for her kind reviews and encouragement. Enjoy!**

When morning came, a cold, pale gray light crept underneath the bridge. Eponine pulled the brim of her cap down over her face, trying to hide from both the light and the cold. Gavroche was still sleeping, his head resting on her shoulder. She put her hand on his flushed cheek. He flinched at her touch, and she realized how icy cold her hands must feel. A sudden gust of wind sent powdery, dry snow flying over them. Azelma shuddered, and pressed closer to Gavroche. "What was that?" she whispered. Beneath the stone arch of the bridge, Eponine could see dark gray clouds piling up in the sky. "Storm's coming," she whispered. "Just what we need," Azelma groaned, hiding her face under the blanket. Eponine reached over Gavroche and clasped Azelma's hand.

For a while the sisters lay quietly, each lost in her own thoughts, until Gavroche stirred between them. "'Ponine, I don't feel good," he moaned. "I know you don't," Eponine sighed.

"No, I_ really_ don't feel good."

Eponine sat upright as the realization dawned on her. "Do you think you feel like you're gonna be sick?" she asked. Gavroche nodded. She stood up and helped him to his feet, leading him away from their little nest. Near the river's edge, Gavroche collapsed on hands and knees, retching into the snow. Eponine knelt beside him, one hand pressed against his forehead, the other rubbing his back. "It's all right, just let it all out," she murmured. He hadn't eaten in a day or more, but dry heaves wracked his small body again and again. Azelma came over and draped the blanket around her brother's shoulders, and handed Eponine's coat to her. "Put this on, you'll catch your death," she chided. When the fit subsided at last, Gavroche collapsed against Azelma. Eponine wiped Gavroche's face gently with her sleeve. Azelma looked up at her, her eyes filled with fear. "This is bad, isn't it?" she whispered, "We've got to get help."

Eponine nodded. "I know," she said, "And I will." They helped Gavroche up and made their way back to the safety of the bridge, where Azelma gathered Gavroche into her arms. Eponine tucked the blanket around the two of them. "Stay with him," she said to Azelma, "Keep him warm. I'll be back in a few hours."

"What are you going to do?" Azelma asked. Eponine shook her head. "I don't know yet. But I'll to find some way to help him." She hugged them both, and climbed up the frozen steps to the bridge.

Eponine walked through the streets, her head down and her hands in her pockets, wondering what she could possibly do to help Gavroche. She watched people hurrying by, dodging in and out of shops, and bit her lip in frustration. _Money, everything costs money_, she thought bitterly, _You've got to pay the doctor, you've got to pay for medicines, you've got to pay for food…_ And she hadn't a sou.

Begging was always an option––it hadn't worked terribly well for her in the past, but it was worth a try. "Excuse me, Madame!" she called out to the first person coming her way. She ran up to the woman and caught at her sleeve; startled, the woman pulled away, and began to walk more quickly. Eponine also quickened her steps to keep up with her. "Please, Madame, have you any spare change? My brother is very sick––" The woman hurried into a shop and shut the door behind her. Eponine turned around and ran after the next person in sight, with no more success. She spent the rest of the morning chasing after passersby, pleading in vain for help; people continued to walk by, as if blind and deaf to her. A few sympathetic souls were kind enough to stop and listen, but shook their heads, saying, "I'm sorry, but I've nothing to give you." While running to catch up with a tall, wealthy-looking man, who strode past her on long legs without a glance in her direction, she slipped on the icy cobblestones and fell facedown in the snow. A couple of people snickered as they walked past, but no one stopped to help her up. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she picked herself up and brushed the snow from her clothes––not tears of pain or embarrassment, though she was feeling both, but tears of sheer frustration. Why would nobody listen? Why didn't anyone care?

As she took off her cap to shake the snow from it, she got an idea––a crazy, desperate idea, but it wouldn't hurt to try. Standing at a street corner, she dropped her cap in the snow at her feet, and began to sing:

_All hail to the days that merit more praise_

_ Than all the rest of the year,_

_ And welcome the nights that double delights_

_ As well for the poor as the peer!_

_ Good fortune attend each merry man's friend,_

_ That doth but the best that he may;_

_ Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,_

_ To drive the cold winter away._

A man dropped a couple of coins into her cap; Eponine nodded to him with a grateful smile, and continued:

_Let Misery pack, with a whip at his back,_

_ To the deep Tantalian flood;_

_ In Lethe profound let envy be drown'd,_

_ That pines at another man's good._

_ Let Sorrow's expense be banded from hence,_

_ All payments have greater delay,_

_ We'll spend the long nights in cheerful delights_

_ To drive the cold winter away._

A short distance away, a woman and two little girls stood listening. One of the girls tugged on her mother's sleeve and whispered something to her; the mother nodded in reply, and reached into her purse, pulling out a coin for each of the girls. Hand in hand, the girls shyly approached and placed the money in Eponine's cap. Eponine couldn't help smiling at their earnestness. The girls returned the look with smiles of their own before scampering back to their mother, who waved to Eponine before taking her daughters' hands and leading them across the street.

Eponine kept singing, her voice ringing out high and clear through the frosty air. Somehow she did not feel the cold so much. She was beginning to understand now why Gavroche was always making up songs––perhaps singing was what kept his spirits up when he was miserable and alone. Oh, Gavroche and his songs! She could always tell when he was near, whenever she heard him singing some nonsense or other. And then he'd come bounding up to her, laughing over his latest prank. It amazed her how he was always able to find something to smile about in the midst of misery.

The song had several verses; when she had finished, Eponine stopped for a moment to give her voice a rest. She tried to think of the songs she used to hear growing up––if only Gavroche were with her, he knew lots of songs! A snowflake landed on the back of her hand, calling to mind a song she used to sing as a little girl in Montfermeil, about snow falling. It was only a simple children's song, but it earned her a few more sous. She blew on her cold hands and rubbed them together, trying to think of another song; nothing coming to mind, she started over with "All hail to the days…"

As she came to the end of the song, someone clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you sound good." Turning her head toward the voice, Eponine saw a young man looking down at her. His face looked rather red, and not just from the cold; something about him seemed strangely familiar. "Thank you," she said, wondering where she had seen him before. "You're one of Marius Pontmercy's friends, aren't you?" she asked. "That I am," said the man bobbing his head and shoulders in a comical little bow, "Grantaire is my name. And you're Gavroche's sister, are you not? Um…Pauline?"*

"Eponine," the girl corrected, "'Ponine for short. But you're right, Gavroche is my little brother." Grantaire nodded. "I knew it. Where is that kid? I haven't seen him around much lately."

"He's sick," said Eponine. "My sister and I are taking care of him––or trying to, anyway––but we need money for medicines and stuff, so…" she gestured to her cap on the ground. "I don't think it'll be enough, but I don't know what else I can do."

Grantaire took her hand and pressed something into it. "Take this," he said, "And tell Gavroche to get well soon." Eponine stared at the five-franc coin in the palm of her hand. "Five francs…" she gasped, "Monsieur Grantaire, are you sure you can spare this much?"

"It's not that much, Eponine," said Grantaire, "I'm afraid it's all I've got on me at the moment. Please, take it."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. What would I do with it except buy a drink––and Joly is always saying I should drink less, so we're both better off if I give it to you. Go buy Gavroche some medicine and hurry home before this little snowstorm turns into a blizzard."

"I will!" cried Eponine, "Thank you, Monsieur Grantaire; you are very kind!"

Grantaire laughed. "I've been called a lot of things, and _kind_ isn't usually one of them. So long, Mam'zelle Eponine; give my regards to your brother!" Before Eponine could say another word, he had disappeared among the crowd of people and swirling snowflakes. Eponine caught up her cap, and ducked into an alley to count the money before tucking it safely away in her pocket. She found an apothecary's shop, and after consulting the little gray-haired shopkeeper as to what she needed, walked out of the shop with a small brown glass bottle in her pocket.

…

In the fading evening light, Azelma caught a glimpse of someone coming through the snow. "Wh-who's there?" she called out, trying not to let fear show in her voice.

"It's all right, 'Zel, it's me."

"Eponine!" Azelma cried, grabbing hold of her sister's sleeve. "Thank goodness you're back, I was afraid something happened to you!"

"How's Gavroche doing?" Eponine asked.

A muffled moan came from under the blanket. "I can't tell if he's worse, but he's no better," Azelma whispered. Eponine pulled back the corner of the blanket and ruffled her brother's hair. "Hey, kid," she said, "Can you sit up for me?" She took the bottle of medicine from her pocket and poured a small amount into the bottle-cap. "Here, drink this down."

"How did you get that?" Azelma asked. "For a song," Eponine said simply. She

wrapped her arms around Gavroche and Azelma, pulling them into a tight little knot against the storm.

Through the curtain of falling snow, a pale yellow beam of light stretched towards them. Azelma looked up from their huddle and gasped in fright. "Eponine," she whispered, "There's a man!" Eponine turned around to see the tall, shadowy figure approaching them, holding up a lantern. A pair of black boots crunched through the snow. "What are you doing here?" a stern voice demanded, "This is a bridge, it's not an inn. Be off or I'll have you taken into custody." A shudder ran through all three children; they knew all too well who that voice belonged to: Inspector Javert.

"Please, Inspector," Azelma begged, "We've nowhere else to go!"

"'Zelma, be quiet!" Eponine hissed. Javert turned on her. "I know you!" he said, "You're the daughter of that lout, Thénardier! I ought to arrest you––all three of you––I ought to put the whole of your wretched family behind bars."

"Have pity, sir!" Eponine cried, "Our brother's sick; he'll die in prison."

Javert looked down at the small, shivering bundle of rags between the two girls. The child's pale face, which Eponine was trying to shield from the cold, was all too familiar to him. He knew this boy well; Gavroche, he was called––the cheekiest and most mischievous child in Paris. Thénardier's son, was he? It figured; only a true denizen of the underworld could've fathered such a little imp.

The boy opened his eyes, staring up at Javert with a pitiful face. Underneath the grime, he was white as the snow falling around them. His cheeks had lost their usual ruddy complexion from running around all day in the winter air. His eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were dulled by pain and weariness. Rascal or not, pickpocket or not, nuisance or not, this was the face of a very ill little boy, who might very well not make it through the night if left out in this storm.

There was only one thing to do. Javert bent down and picked up Gavroche in his arms. "Come," he said to the girls.

"Where are you taking him?" cried Eponine. Javert did not bother to look at her as he replied. "To my home. Now come along, and bring the lantern."

*(A/N: In French, "Pauline" is pronounced "Po-leen," and would sound very similar to "Ponine.")


	5. Take Shelter From the Storm

Javert carried Gavroche up the slippery steps to the street level. Azelma followed behind him, holding the lantern and stepping carefully in his footprints. Eponine stayed close behind them, a little distrustful of Javert, and not about to let her brother and sister out of her sight. A carriage waited for them on the bridge. The gray horse hitched to the carriage was snorting and stamping its feet in the snow. The driver climbed down from his seat and opened the door for Javert. "Get in," Javert said to Eponine. He laid Gavroche down on the seat beside her so that his head rested in her lap. Azelma took the seat across from Eponine, and immediately curled up as close to the window as possible when she saw Javert sit down next to her. "Driver, take us to number twenty-six Rue La Fayette, please."

"Yes, Monsieur," said the driver. He climbed back onto his seat, and the horse trotted away down the cobblestone street. For the better part of the drive, silence prevailed in the carriage, broken only by an occasional cough from Gavroche. Javert remained rigid as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on some point on the opposite side of the carriage. When the carriage stopped in front of a large, gray house, which, even in the twilight looked like it had weathered many a winter, he got out to pay the driver. "And, if you please," he said, handing the man a few extra sous, "Stop at the doctor's on Rue Jourdain, and ask him to come at once." He returned to the back of the carriage to collect Gavroche. Eponine and Azelma scrambled out of the carriage and ran after him up the shoveled path leading up to the front door.

A stout, middle-aged housekeeper opened the door. "Ah, there you are, Monsieur!" she said, "What kept you so long? I––oh." She stopped abruptly when she saw the pale, sick child cradled in Javert's arms.

"I was detained on my way home, as you can see, Mme. Pascal," said Javert. "I will explain later. Have you lit the fire in my room?"

"Yes, Monsieur, quite some time ago."

"Good. Please light one in the spare room as well, and make up the bed. The doctor is on his way; when he arrives, show him upstairs." Having given his orders, Javert stepped quickly up the long, dark staircase. Mme. Pascal turned to Eponine and Azelma, looking the girls over. "Have either of you two had anything to eat today?" she asked. "No, Madame," Azelma murmured quietly. "Well, we'll have to do something about that," said Mme. Pascal, "Come along to the kitchen." She led the way down a carpeted hallway to a warm, tidy kitchen. The two girls were soon seated by the cast-iron stove, thawing out their stiff, white hands. Mme. Pascal put a kettle of water on the stove to boil for tea, and set out a plate of bread and cheese for the girls. "There, now, that's for you; eat up," she said. The hungry sisters needed no second invitation.

…

Javert carried Gavroche to his own room, dimly lit by the warm glow coming from the fireplace. The boy coughed as Javert laid him down on the bed and pulled the quilt over him. Javert felt his hot forehead, frowning. It seemed wrong to see the little terror laid low like this.

"Monsieur, the doctor is here." Javert turned around to see Mme. Pascal standing in the doorway, carrying a lamp; a man with a black bag in his hand stood just behind her. She set the lamp on the small table by the bed, and quietly left. "Doctor Leblanc, it is good of you to come on such short notice," said Javert. "Good evening, Inspector," said the doctor, "I assumed it must be an urgent matter, though I must say it's a surprise to be called to your house. You are not ill, Monsieur?"

"No, no; it's the boy I've called you for."

Dr. Leblanc raised his eyebrows. "The boy?"

"Yes." Javert gestured toward the little body huddled under the quilt.

"Pardon me, Inspector, I wasn't aware that you were caring for a child. Is he your…nephew?"

"No!" Javert snapped, "He is no relation to me whatsoever!"

"I see." Dr. Leblanc gently pulled back the quilt and began to examine Gavroche.

"Well?" said Javert after a while, "What is it?"

"Influenza," the doctor sighed, "A rather bad case of it, I'm afraid." He looked up at Javert. "Monsieur, I know you said the boy is not related to you, but I must ask, where did he come from?"

"From the street," Javert answered, "I found him with his sisters, huddled under a bridge in the snow."

Dr. Leblanc nodded gravely. "It is as I feared," he said, "He has probably been ill for some time now, and not been treated properly, if at all. Most likely, lack of food and exposure to the cold have made it difficult for his body to fight the illness. I will do what I can, but at this stage…the odds are not in his favor."

…

When she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Eponine jumped up from her chair by the kitchen stove and ran down the hall. She saw Javert talking to another man––the doctor, she assumed it must be. "I will come again tomorrow," the man said, "Give him the medicine, and keep the room warm; when he wakes, see if you can get him to drink a little tea, or some clear broth. It would be best if someone could sit up with him tonight."

"Thank you, doctor," said Javert, holding the door open as the man stepped out into the cold. As he closed the door, he turned around and caught sight of Eponine. "It's bad, isn't it?" she said, in a way that was not so much a question as a statement. Javert nodded gravely. "Is he going to be all right?" she asked anxiously. "That remains to be seen," said Javert.

Mme. Pascal came down the stairs. "Monsieur, the guest room is ready. I'm afraid there's only one bed," she said to the girls, "so you two will have to share."

"That's fine," said Eponine, "We're used to it." Mme. Pascal led them upstairs to the spare room, which lived up to its name, for it was furnished as plainly as a room could be without looking shabby. To Eponine and Azelma, however, the simple furnishings seemed more than adequate. "A bed!" Azelma exclaimed, "Look Eponine, a real bed, with a quilt and sheets and pillows! And a rug on the floor! And look at the window––the glass isn't cracked, and it has curtains and everything!"

While Azelma exclaimed over their room, Eponine slipped quietly into the room next door, and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to her little brother. "Hold on, Gavroche," she whispered, taking his hand in hers, "Don't leave me."

"It's getting late, Mademoiselle Thénardier. You ought to be in bed." Eponine turned her head and saw Javert standing in the doorway. "I can't leave him," she said, "I promised…" She looked down the pale, dirty little face on the pillow. "He's got to get better. He will, won't he?"

"If his attitude toward illness is anything like his attitude toward the law," said Javert, "I have no doubt he will find some way to defy it." He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, across from Eponine. "If you wish to stay up with him tonight, you may." He sat down, assuming the same stony rigidity of the carriage ride earlier.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Eponine said slowly, feeling that she should say something. Javert's only response was a silent nod. _This is going to be a long night, _she thought.

**Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I'll try to finish the next chapter a little sooner. **

**A couple of notes: the flu may not seem like a big deal nowadays, but in the 1800s (and even today, in places where people don't have access to good health care), it was a serious illness––especially if you were stuck living on the streets with no money and no place to go. I'm no expert on disease, so please forgive me if my depiction isn't accurate.**

**When I was writing about Dr. Leblanc, for some reason he took on the voice and face of Father Mulcahy from **_**M*A*S*H**_**––I have no idea why, but I kind of like it.**


	6. Not a Dream After All

**Hello, dear readers! Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I'm also sorry this chapter is rather short and inconclusive. I wanted to get **_**something**_** posted; hopefully the next one will be better. Special thanks to my cat, who kept me company while I was finishing this.**

**The opening of this chapter was inspired by a scene from **_**A Little Princess**_** by Frances Hodgeson Burnett. Just in case this isn't clear, the first paragraph, **_**written in italics, **_**is a dream––which accounts for the **_**very**_** OOC behavior of a certain person––it's taking place in Montfermeil, when Azelma and Eponine were children.**

"_Summer is here!" Mme. Thénardier threw open the windows, letting warm air and sunshine into the room. Azelma stood on tiptoe, breathing in the warm scent of clover and wildflowers. An orange butterfly flitted past the window. Mme. Thénardier hummed a tune while she wove the little girl's hair into two neat braids and tied ribbons on the ends. "Go out and play, sweetie," she said, playfully shooing Azelma toward the door. A soft summer breeze greeted Azelma as she stepped outside into a small garden full of flowers. Eponine, wearing a pastel-colored dress, her hair in braids with ribbons like Azelma's, was riding back and forth on a swing hanging from the branches of a big tree. "'Zelma, come swing with me!" she called, her white boots scraping against the ground to stop the swing. Azelma climbed onto the swing beside her sister. As they flew into the air, she tilted her head back toward the cloudless blue sky and laughed for pure joy…_

Azelma buried her face in her pillow, squeezing her eyes closed. She didn't want the dream to end, but she knew it was no use; she was already half awake. She half-yawned and half-sighed, expecting to feel cold air on her nose.Instead, to her surprise, the comfortable warmth of her dream lingered in the room. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. A thick quilt lay across her lap, and she was surrounded by soft flannel sheets. She leaned back, and felt a couple of fluffy pillows behind her head. Flames crackled merrily in the fireplace. _I must still be dreaming…_ she thought. Slowly, she pulled back the quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She braced herself for the moment her bare feet would touch cold floorboards, but instead she felt a carpet tickle her toes. It all felt too real to be a dream.

A mirror hung on the opposite wall, above a small table. Azelma peered at her reflection. Her surroundings may have drastically improved, but her appearance had not. She straightened her ragged dress, and smoothed her tangled hair as best she could. The thin, dirty face staring back at her was all too real to be some figment of her imagination.

She tiptoed toward the window and pulled aside the curtain. Lacy frost patterns covered the panes of glass. She rubbed a clear spot on one of the panes and peeped through. She could see the snow-covered roofs of houses much nicer than the Gorbeau tenement. As she peered down at the street below, bits and pieces of the night before came back to her. Huddling under the bridge with Eponine, trying desperately to keep Gavroche warm…a man with a lantern coming toward them through the snow…a long ride in a carriage… Inspector Javert's face kept appearing in her mind's eye. Azelma had had fewer run-ins with Javert than Gavroche or Eponine had, but she knew well enough who he was. Now she remembered: he had wanted to arrest them, but brought them instead to his house. What had made him change his mind? Why would he, of all people, show them kindness?

She pulled on her threadbare stockings and shoes, warm and dry from sitting by the fire, and ventured out into the hallway. The door of the next room was halfway open; she peeked in. Eponine was slumped against the headboard of the bed, sound asleep, and Gavroche was curled up by her side, holding onto her hand. Azelma could not resist a slight smile; it would have been a sweet scene if Gavroche did not look so pale and sick, or Eponine so exhausted.

She did not have long to look before she heard footsteps on the stairs. Javert was coming upstairs, taking care not to drop the tray he was carrying. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before, and looked as though he had not yet shaved. "Pardon me," he said to Azelma, who scurried out of his way as he entered the room. As a sort of afterthought, he turned to her and said, "Young lady, er, go down and see if Mme. Pascal needs any help in the kitchen." Azelma scampered off down the stairs. Javert went over to the bed and set the tray down on the small bedside table. Eponine awoke with a start, and scowled at Javert. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she grumbled. "I don't recall being asked to wake you, Mlle. Thénardier," replied Javert, "And you looked as though you needed sleep." Eponine yawned and stretched; her neck and shoulders were stiff from sleeping propped up against the headboard. A smile tugged at her lips when she looked down at Gavroche and saw his small hand wrapped around hers; she ruffled his hair as a substitute for a kiss. "Has he woken up yet?" she asked. "Not yet," said Javert, He took a damp cloth from the tray he had brought in and laid it across Gavroche's forehead. "The doctor should be here soon," he said.

Gavroche began to cough violently. Javert grabbed his shoulders and helped him sit up. "Cover your mouth," he said, thrusting a handkerchief in front of the boy's face. Gavroche looked up at Javert; his eyes grew wide. "Wh-what's he doing here?" he stammered, his voice hardly above a whisper, "Where––?" Another fit of coughing cut him off. "It's alright," said Eponine, "We had the luck to run into Inspector Javert, and he was kind enough to take us in. Don't you remember, he found us under the bridge and brought us here in a carriage?"

"I thought that was some crazy dream…" Gavroche murmured. He glanced up at Javert. "Um…hello, Inspector; it's, um––" A conveniently timed cough prevented him from having to think of what to say. "Ow…" he moaned. "Does it hurt?" Eponine asked. "Yeah, my chest hurts when I cough," said Gavroche, "and my throat hurts too." He lay back against the pillows with a miserable groan.

Javert, meanwhile, occupied by pouring a spoonful of medicine with careful precision. "Take this," he said, holding out the spoon to Gavroche. "Can't," Gavroche protested, "It hurts too much to swallow."

"This will help," said Javert, "Open your mouth."

Eponine prepared herself for a struggle, but to her surprise Gavroche took the medicine with only a slight grimace––too tired, she guessed, to put up much of a fight. "Good lad," said Javert, nodding his approval. "Mme. Pacal should be almost finished brewing the tea by now; I shall return directly." He got up and walked quietly out of the room.

"'Ponine?" Gavroche whispered once he had gone, "Are we under house arrest?"

Eponine frowned at Javert's retreating back. "I'm not sure," she said in a low voice, "But I wouldn't worry about that if I were you." _You've got enough to worry about,_ she silently added. She stroked his hair and began humming quietly.

**That's all for now; more to come soon! I know there's not much to review here, but if you would like to send get well wishes for Gavroche or advice for his caretakers, they would appreciate it very much!**


	7. Is There Another Way to Go?

**Hello, dear readers! I owe you all an apology. I'm sorry that I haven't updated in so long. There have been a number of things going on: acting projects, obligatory family visits, and on top of that, that last couple of days I've been a bit ill myself––must've caught it from Gavroche ;) …And it's also my birthday (virtual cupcake for the first person who tells me what movie that quote is from). But I promised myself I was going to finish this chapter tonight! It's another filler chapter, I'm afraid, not terribly interesting, but longer than the last one––the next one will be good, I promise!**

**One last thing: a long overdue response for Gavroche T, to your kind note, from your namesake! He says: "Thanks, mate! Still not sure I trust Javert, but as long as I got 'Ponine and 'Zelma takin' care of me I guess I'll be alright. Don't you fret; it'll take more than the flu to knock me down. P.S. As for takin' the medicine: you ever try that stuff? Yuck!"**

Azelma carried the breakfast tray slowly and carefully up the stairs. With every step, the china teacups rattled, the little silver spoons clinked against one another, the teapot quivered unnervingly. They seemed like priceless treasures to the girl who could not remember having anything but a cracked bowl and a rusty spoon to eat with; she was terrified of dropping or spilling something. At the top of the stairs, she nearly ran into Javert. "Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector," she mumbled. "Brought breakfast, have you?" he said––it was more of a statement than a question. "Yes sir," said Azelma meekly. "Well come along, then," said Javert. Azelma obediently followed him into the bedroom.

"Mm, smells good!" Eponine exclaimed, "Is that for us?" Javert gave an affirmative nod. Having cleared a space on the bedside table for their breakfast, Azelma served everyone tea before pouring a cup for herself. She perched on the end of the bed, alternately sipping tea and nibbling at a slice of bread, until Javert passed her a plate and pointed out that she was getting crumbs on the quilt.

"Doesn't that bread look good? Have some," Eponine coaxed Gavroche.

"I'm not that hungry," Gavroche replied, "What about you? You haven't eaten in at least as long as I have."

"You're the one who's sick; you've gotta have something to keep your strength up. I'll eat later."

Gavroche shook his head disapprovingly. "You're too skinny, 'Ponine," he scolded, "I know Maman and Papa don't give you enough to eat."

"Fine, then: I'll have some bread if you will, too. Deal?"

"Deal."

Javert watched Eponine and Gavroche sink their teeth into slices of bread at exactly the same time, grinning at one another. He wondered how many times a similar deal had been struck between them––not often enough, evidently. "There's more," he said, "You can eat as much as you want."

When they had finished breakfast, Azelma and Eponine collected the dirty dishes and piled them back on the tray. Just as they were about to carry them back downstairs, Gavroche started to cough, and then sat up with his hand over his mouth. Eponine ran back to his side, begging him to "hold on a minute" while she looked around desperately for something for him to retch into, but it was already too late. Javert leapt out of his chair. "Get the chamber pot!" he yelled. Eponine stared blankly. "What?"

"The blasted chamber pot; it's under the bed on your side, otherwise I'd get it myself!" He turned to Azelma; who stood frozen in the doorway. "Don't just stand there, girl," he said, "Go get Mme. Pascal!"

"All over the bed," he muttered, "We'll have to change those sheets; I've got to find another quilt; this is _not_ how I planned to start the day!" Gavroche started to wipe his mouth on his sleeve; Javert caught his wrist. "Don't do that; you'll get it everywhere!" he scolded. Gavroche cringed, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Inspector!" he said, "I didn't mean to throw up; honest, I didn't!"

Javert sighed. "I know you didn't," he said, relaxing his hold on Gavroche's wrist, "These things happen when you're sick; it can't be helped." He picked up a slightly damp washcloth. "Here," he said, "let me clean you up a bit." Gavroche shrank back when Javert's hand came near his face. "Hold still," Javert chided, "I won't hurt you."

Mme. Pascal came into the room, with Azelma at her heels. "Oh dear," she said, "Oh my…Come girls, help me get that bed cleared off."

While she and the girls changed the soiled bed-clothes, Javert endeavored to get Gavroche changed into one of his own shirts. "I don't need help, Inspector," Gavroche grumbled, "I'm not a little kid, you know."

"I know," Javert replied, pulling Gavroche's ragged shirt over his head. The sight of Gavroche without a shirt caught him off-guard: he could see every one of the boy's ribs, and his spine formed a long ridge up his back. Javert bit his lip; no child should be that thin, though he knew that, sadly, too many were. He hastily covered up the pitiful sight with a clean shirt. He was rolling up the sleeves when Mme. Pascal ushered Dr. Leblanc into the room. "Why, Monsieur, you're not even shaved yet!" she scolded, "Hurry up and get dressed; you'll be late for work!"

"Good morning, Inspector," said the doctor. "And good morning to you, young man," he added, seeing Gavroche sitting up in bed, "I'm glad to see you're awake. I was here last night, but you probably don't remember––I'm Dr. Leblanc."

"My name's Gavroche," said the boy shyly.

"Well, Monsieur Gavroche, will you let me have a look at you?"

While Dr. Leblanc examined Gavroche, Javert took the opportunity to make himself presentable. He had just finished shaving when the doctor stepped out of the bedroom. "How is he, doctor?" he whispered anxiously. "Well, he appears to be feeling slightly better," replied Dr. Leblanc, "He's awake and alert, at least. His fever is still quite high, which worries me. I'm also concerned about his not being able to keep down food––it may be just because he's so malnourished. Keep trying to get something into him, even if it's only liquids." He shook his head. "It's so hard to tell with children––sometimes they appear to be getting better, but then the symptoms return worse than before." Javert frowned. "I see," he said, "Thank you, doctor."

…

"Is there anything I can help you with, Madame?" asked Azelma. "Thank you, dearie, but you don't have to," Mme. Pascal replied.

"I don't mind. Gavroche is asleep and Eponine's sitting with him; I need something to do."

"Well…if you'd dry the dishes, I'd appreciate it. Here's a towel."

Azelma picked up a freshly rinsed spoon and cautiously began to pat it dry. "Go ahead and give it a good rub, you won't hurt it," Mme. Pascal encouraged. "Now, your name is Azelma, am I right?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Pretty name. Do you know where it's from?"

Azelma shrugged. "Some book my mother read. She used to read a lot, but she doesn't anymore. She taught me and my sister, a little; we both know how to read and write."

"A good thing––those are two skills no one should be without."

"When we were little, Maman wanted my sister and me to have everything. She never wanted us to have to go without anything we needed."

Out of the corner of her eye, Mme. Pascal took in the bony knees and bare feet sticking out from beneath Azelma's tattered skirt and shook her head sadly. "Are both your parents still living?" she asked.

"Yes, Madame."

For a long while, the only sound in the kitchen was the soft clinking and splashing of dishes in the sink. "Where do you come from?" Mme. Pascal asked.

"From Montfermeil, Madame. It's a little village in the country."

"Was it a nice place to live?"

"I suppose."

"Were you happy there?"

Azelma stopped in the middle of drying a plate. "I…don't know…" she answered slowly. "Our family was all together then. My parents kept an inn. We always had a roof over our heads, good food, nice clothes. And I suppose I was lucky to have those things, but back then I didn't think of it. I guess sometimes you don't realize how good something is until you don't have it anymore. Where should I put these?" she asked, holding out a stack of plates.

"In the cabinet on your left, bottom shelf," said Mme. Pascal.

Azelma slid the plates carefully onto the shelf and closed the door. "Will Gavroche be all right?" she asked.

"I don't know, dearie, but I hope so."

"I think I'll go up and see him."

Azelma crept softly up the stairs and tiptoed into the bedroom. Eponine was sitting in a chair pulled beside the bed. She did not realize her sister had come in until she felt Azelma's arms around her. "Hey 'Zel," she said, leaning her head back against her sister's shoulder. "How is he?" Azelma whispered, looking down at Gavroche. "No better, as far as I can tell," Eponine sighed, adjusting the cloth on his forehead. "I wish there was more I could do for him."

"You already have done a lot, just by being here for him. Just think how much worse it would be if he had to go through this alone."

"I don't want to think about it," said Eponine, shaking her head. Azelma sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. "We'll always have each other," she said softly, "As long as we three stick together, none of us has to be alone."

…

Javert returned home that evening, looking forward to a warm supper and a comfortable bed…until he remembered that, at present, his bed was occupied and he was sharing his home with three unexpected guests. Mme. Pascal came to meet him at the door. "Ah, good evening, Monsieur!" she said, brushing the snow off his hat before hanging it up, "Glad you made it home all right; the snow's coming down in sheets!" Javert hung up his heavy overcoat. "How did things go today?" he inquired, "No more…incidents, I hope?"

"No sir, we've had a very quiet day."

"Have the children eaten?"

"Yes sir; the girls and I had supper earlier, and Eponine is looking after Gavroche. Please, go and have a seat in the dining room, and I'll bring your supper in a moment."

All throughout supper, Javert caught snatches of conversation between Mme. Pascal and Azelma coming from the kitchen. He tried to ignore them, but eventually his detective instincts got the better of him. From their hushed conversation, he was able to piece together the sad but familiar story Azelma had to tell––a family fallen on hard times, parents' affections grown cold when their lives were crowded with cares and concerns, children turned out into the street and forced to fend for themselves. It was a common story, he knew all too well. Every day he saw dozens of homeless waifs wandering the streets, and yet his heart did not go out to them as it had toward these three.

When supper was finished, Azelma tiptoed in to clear the dishes; when Javert thanked her, she made a clumsy attempt at a curtsy, and scampered out of the room. Javert climbed the stairs, bracing himself for another long night. Perhaps he could convince the Thénardier girl to take the night in shifts so that they could both get some sleep. As he came upon the open door of his room, he stopped and looked in. The girl––Eponine, was it?––was seated by the headboard, supporting her brother with one arm around his shoulders, while her free hand held a mug to his lips. She seemed to be gently coaxing and encouraging him. Having drained the contents of the mug, the boy nestled into his sister's arms. Eponine pulled him into a close embrace and let her cheek rest on top of his head. Rocking gently back and forth, she began to sing softly, a quiet, haunting melody. Javert drew back from the door, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene. He would speak to her after the child was asleep. Had he not known whose children they were, he never would have been able to guess these two belonged to the Thénardier family––it seemed impossible to imagine anything like tenderness or affection coming from that vile clan. And yet, Javert knew well that in some instances, children were made of a different stock than their parents…he was living proof. He took one more peeped once more into the room, and the slightest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Perhaps there was hope for the younger generation after all.


	8. Let Him Be, Let Him Live

In the days that followed, Gavroche's illness went from bad to worse. Painful coughing fits kept him awake at night (along with Javert and Eponine). The rare moments when he was able to sleep were plagued with feverish nightmares. The days he spent in a listless daze, barely conscious of what was going on around him.

Through all the anxious days and sleepless nights, Eponine refused to leave her brother's side. She wiped the sweat from his forehead; bathed his face with cool water; tried to get him to drink the cups of tea and soup Mme. Pascal sent up; held him when he woke up crying from a nightmare, and sang him back to sleep; and did her best to comfort him. Azelma mostly stayed clear of the sickroom, preferring to help Mme. Pascal with household chores, eager to make herself useful in a tangible way. Yet oftentimes she would sit quietly by herself, "brooding," as Mme. Pascal would say, and after a while would slip upstairs for a moment or two to sit with Eponine. Sometimes they would talk; most often they sat together in silence, ever alert to the slightest cough or moan from Gavroche.

"The fever is rising. He's nearing the crisis," said Dr. Leblanc, after one of his daily visits. "You'll want to keep a close watch on him tonight, Inspector. We'll know soon enough if he's going to recover, or if…well, we'll just have to wait and see. Good evening, Inspector."

Having seen the doctor out, Javert asked Mme. Pascal to brew a pot of coffee. He climbed the stairs slowly, and went into his room. By the dim light from the fireplace, and a single candle by the bed, he could see Eponine's silhouette. When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she startled, and looked up at him. "What did the doctor say?" she asked. "He said we'll know by tonight whether or not Gavroche will pull through," Javert answered. "You should go to bed, Eponine," he added, "You've hardly slept in days. It won't do to have you taken ill as well. Get some sleep."

"I won't leave him." Eponine's voice was firm. "He needs me now more than ever. I want to be with him, no matter what happens."

"Very well." As he had done for several nights now, Javert pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. Eponine pulled the blanket up over Gavroche's shoulders, and stroked his cheek. "It's so strange to see him like this," she murmured, "Usually he's so full of life, it seems like nothing could bring him down. He's hardly ever sick. It must be scary for him."

"Rather frightening for you as well, I imagine, is it not?" said Javert. Eponine nodded. "You know the way you care for him is truly remarkable," Javert continued, "It seems at times as though you're more like a mother to him than a sister."

"I'm the only family he's got," said Eponine quietly. "My parents threw him out of the house when he was barely more than a toddler. They didn't want anything to do with him. There's Azelma, but she stays at home most of the time and doesn't go out much by herself. I'm the one who's always been there for him. He had colic when he was a baby––Papa used to get annoyed with his crying, and I'd always be the one who had to go try and get him to settle down.

He used to follow me around––my little shadow; everywhere I went he'd be one step behind me. And then, when we moved here, and he was out on his own, he'd always come running to me. I could always tell when he was close by, because I'd hear him singing; and then he'd see me, and his face would light up with this huge grin, and he'd come running over and tell me about all his adventures. Sometimes it felt like he was the only person in the world who _wanted_ to be around me. I can't…imagine…life without…" She turned away, but Javert could see she was blinking back tears. He silently handed her a handkerchief.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The wind whistled around the corners of the house, driving snowflakes up against the windowpanes. At last, Eponine broke the silence. "Inspector," she said, "You didn't have to take us in. You could've left us under the bridge."

"Strictly speaking, you were trespassing," Javert replied, "It was my duty to see that you did not remain there."

"You said you were going to arrest us," said Eponine quietly, "What made you change your mind?"

"If you must know, you…reminded me of someone."

"Who?"

"Myself."

Eponine tilted her head to one side quizzically. "How'd we ever manage that?" Javert gave her a wry smile. "I wasn't always a police inspector, you know," he said, "Actually, I grew up in circumstances much like yours. I was born behind bars, if you can believe it. My mother was a gypsy, my father a convict, and I decided early on I wanted nothing to do with either of them. I grew up on the streets; no family to speak of, and very few friends…except for one." He stopped, shaking his head. "I don't know why I should tell you this," he said, "I have never told anyone."

"You can tell me," said Eponine, "I'm listening."

"There was a boy," Javert continued, "a little boy named Daniel. He was like a brother to me. We shared everything––even though we had little to share. He was four years younger than me; brightest child I ever knew. He could always find something to smile about, even on the darkest day. He was the only person I ever truly cared about, because I knew that he…loved me…admired me, even…though I never knew why.

"When he was only eight years old, Daniel fell sick. I never knew the name of his illness, or what caused it. I blamed myself, even though I knew there was nothing I could have done to protect him. What could I do? I was twelve years old; I had no money, no home, no family––there was nothing I could do to save him. He died in my arms." Javert turned away from the light, but Eponine could still see the trails of tears running down his face. "I have never forgotten Daniel," he whispered, "try as I might. If I could have saved him…" He swiftly wiped away his tears and turned toward Eponine once more. "When I found you under the bridge, and I saw Gavroche looking up at me––it was Daniel's face I saw. It was as if I had been given a second chance; a solemn charge from my dear friend and brother not to let another child suffer the same fate. I cannot save every child in Paris, but in that instant, I vowed that I would do all I could to save Gavroche."

It was a long night for Javert and Eponine. For long stretches of time there was silence between them, each one lost in thought. As the night wore on, to keep themselves awake, they exchanged stories––of Eponine's childhood, of Javert's work with the police, of Gavroche, and of Daniel. They spoke in hushed voices for fear of waking Gavroche, though there was little chance of that. The boy lay still as stone, insensible to their anxious vigil.

Toward four o'clock in the morning, they had run out of things to say. Eponine was beginning to nod off when she heard Javert call her name. Immediately her eyes snapped open. "What is it?" she asked. She looked down at Gavroche's pale face on the pillow beside her. "Is he…?" she gasped, unable to say the word aloud. "Please tell me he's not…he can't be…Oh Gavroche!"

"No, no." Javert put his hand on her shoulder to calm her. "The fever's broken," he whispered, "See for yourself." Eponine felt Gavroche's forehead. It was still warm, but nowhere near as hot as it had been. A soft sigh escaped his lips; he turned his head toward her so that her hand now rested on his cheek. Eponine looked up at Javert and smiled. "He's going to be all right?" Javert nodded. "Yes, he will. You can go to bed now."

"Not a chance," said Eponine, "I want to be here when he wakes up."

As the first rays of dawn peeped in through the window, Gavroche finally stirred. He blinked a few times, then opened his eyes. " 'Ponine?" he whispered hoarsely. Eponine could not contain herself any longer. She threw her arms around him, tears of joy running down her face. "Gavroche!" she cried. Javert stood back, not wanting to interrupt their happy reunion, but when Eponine finally released Gavroche, he caught the boy in his arms and hugged him tight. Gavroche stared up him with a look of amazement and confusion. "Inspector?"

Azelma's bare feet pounded down the hall; she stood breathlessly in the doorway. "Gavroche," she gasped. "Please say he's not…Oh!" she cried, seeing Gavroche sitting up. She ran into the room and jumped onto the bed, throwing her arms around her little brother. "Why does everyone keep hugging me?" Gavroche wondered aloud. "You gave us quite a scare," said Javert, "We're glad to have you back."

A dry cough broke from Gavroche's lips. "I'll get you some water," said Eponine, jumping up. She swayed unsteadily on her feet; Javert caught her arm. "Oh no you don't," he said, "You've been up all night; it's time you got some sleep."

"But I'm not––" Eponine's protest was interrupted by a huge yawn. Azelma giggled. "_I'll_ get the water," she said, "You go to bed."

"Oh fine," Eponine mumbled. Leaning on Javert's arm, she stumbled off toward her room and collapsed onto the bed. Javert shook his head slightly. "Sleep well, Eponine," he murmured, "You've earned it."


	9. He's Like the Son I Might Have Known

**Hi.**

**I haven't updated this story in a disgracefully long amount of time. If you're still reading, thank you for your perseverance. **

**I haven't had a lot of time to write lately, for a number of reasons––I'll spare you the details. I'm really sorry for the delay. But, you'll be pleased to know I have finally concluded this story! I hesitate to say "finished," because it's far from finished. At some point I may go back and re-write the previous chapters, but that probably won't happen for a while.**

**I wanted to put this story aside so I could face tomorrow with a clear conscience, because tomorrow is the first day of NaNoWriMo: National Novel Writing Month! My best friend and I are doing it together. I don't know how I let her talk me into this, but as scary as it is I'm kind of excited. When I finish my novel, I may post it on FictionPress if I'm pleased with how it turns out.**

**Anyway, thank you all so much for bearing with me through this story. Enjoy the last two chapters!**

––**T.G.**

"'Zelma, you've been in there for a half hour already! How long does it take you to get clean?"

"I'll be out in a minute!"

"That's what you said ten minutes ago! Hurry up; the water's gonna be freezing by the time I get in the tub."

"It's all right, Eponine," said Mme. Pascal, setting down a basket of freshly laundered towels outside the bathroom door, "I'll heat some more water for your bath." Eponine slumped against the wall with a sigh. It had been so long since either of them had had a proper bath she couldn't blame Azelma for wanting to savor the experience as long as possible.

A brisk knock on the bedroom door woke Gavroche from his half-doze. "C'mon in!" he said. The door swung open and Javert came in, carrying a book under his arm. He put the book on the bedside table and sat down on the bed beside Gavroche. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Better," said Gavroche, "A lot better. How are _you_, Inspector?" A faint trace of a smile appeared under Javert's mustache. "I am quite well," said Javert. "I've brought you something." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a round, reddish-golden object. "Whassat?" asked Gavroche.

"This is an orange," said Javert matter-of-factly.

"What's it for?"

"It's for you to eat."

Javert put the fruit in Gavroche's hand and produced a second one from his other pocket. "It's got a thick skin that is rather bitter," he said, "We must peel that off first of all." Gavroche watched as Javert began to peel his orange. He stuck his fingernail into the skin, trying to imitate the inspector. Javert squinted as a few drops of orange juice squirted into his eye. "Oops," said Gavroche, "Sorry."

"Here," Javert said, "I'll get you started." He took the orange from Gavroche and tore off a large patch of the peel. "There now," he said, handing the orange back, "You do the rest."

"So, what now?" asked Gavroche, holding the exposed fruit in his hand. "Now, we eat," said Javert. He pulled a piece off his orange and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. Gavroche did the same. "Mm…that's good!"

"All right, 'Ponine, the bathtub's all yours." Azelma stepped out into the hallway, rubbing her hair with a towel. She was wearing a dressing gown provided by Mme. Pascal, which hung loosely on her slender frame. She pulled it tighter around herself when she heard Javert's voice in the room across the hall. She also heard Gavroche giggling. Curious to see what the joke was, she tiptoed to the doorway and peeked in. Javert was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mouth stretched into a tremendous grin revealing a slice of orange between his teeth. Gavroche had the inspector's top hat on his head, and his upper lip curled up holding a strip of orange peel beneath his nose, though he was trying so hard not to laugh it was not going to stay there for long. Azelma clapped her hand over her mouth, trying not to burst out laughing. She ran back to the bathroom. "Eponine!" she whispered.

"What?"

"You've got to see––" Azelma let out a burst of giggles. Eponine poked her head out of the door. "What is it?" she asked. Azelma grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom. Eponine looked in; after a few seconds she collapsed against Azelma's shoulder, trying to muffled her laughter. Javert glanced toward the door. "Something funny, ladies?" he asked. Azelma and Eponine both straightened up, trying to look sober, but they couldn't contain their amusement. Javert shook his head. "What are we going to do with those two?" he said to Gavroche. Gavroche shrugged. "Not much you can do, Inspector," he said, "They're both absolutely mad."  
>"Us!" exclaimed Azelma ,feigning shock. "How rude!" said Eponine, sticking her nose in the air. "Aw, go take yer bath," said Gavroche, flinging a pillow toward her. Eponine calmly picked up the pillow. "Pardon me, dear brother," she said, advancing towards the bed, "It appears you've dropped something." She swung the pillow at Gavroche, cuffing him lightly across the shoulders. Gavroche grabbed onto the pillow, attempting to wrestle it from her grip. "'Zelma, help!" cried Eponine. Azelma jumped onto the bed and made a grab for the pillow, only to be swatted by a second one. "No fair, Inspector!" she said to the pillow-wielding Javert, who merely grinned back at her. She tried to disarm Javert; Eponine, meanwhile, fell to tickling Gavroche. "Stop it, 'Ponine!" Gavroche gasped between fits of giggles.<p>

"Not until you give me that pillow!" Eponine released him suddenly when she felt someone tickle the back of her neck. "Inspector!" she said. Javert looked innocently puzzled. Eponine threw Gavroche's pillow at him. "Enough's enough," she said, "I'm gonna go take my bath before it gets cold."

Azelma pulled her dressing gown around herself, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "I should go get dressed," she said, hurrying away down the hall. Javert replaced the pillows behind Gavroche's head and smoothed out the rumpled covers. "Do I _have_ to stay in bed?" asked Gavroche. "That's what the doctor said," said Javert. Gavroche sighed. Javert sat down on the edge of the bed. He picked up the book he had laid on the bedside table. "One of the men I work with in the police force gave me this book," he said, "He has a son who's about your age. When I told him about you he said he thought you would enjoy it."

Gavroche ran his hand over the cover of the book, tracing the gold lettering with his fingers. "I don't know how to read, Inspector," he said quietly.

"That's no matter," said Javert, "I'll read it to you."

Both of them got so caught up in the tale of knights and dragons that Mme. Pascal had to call them down for supper three times. "Monsieur," she said, marching into the room with her hands on her hips, "Supper will be cold; are you not coming down?" Javert stuck his folded handkerchief between the pages and shut the book. "Are you coming?" he asked Gavroche.

"Can I?"

"If you feel up to it."

Gavroche swung his legs over the side of the bed. Mme. Pascal enveloped him in a blanket and coaxed Javert's slippers onto the boy's bare feet. Javert gave Gavroche his arm to lean on, and they made their way toward Eponine and Azelma's room. The sound of singing floated down the hallway through the open door. Both girls wore simple cotton dresses provided by Mme. Pascal. Azelma knelt on the end of the bed, while Eponine stood behind her, braiding her hair. Their clear voices wove together in a lilting carol.

_This time of the year is spent in good cheer  
>And neighbours together do meet,<br>To sit by the fire, with friendly desire,  
>Each other in love to greet.<br>Old grudges forgot are put in the pot,  
>All sorrows aside they lay,<br>The old and the young doth carol this song,  
>To drive the cold winter away.<br>_

Javert waited until they had finished the verse. He cleared his throat, reluctant to interrupt. Both heads turned toward the door. "Oh, hello," said Eponine, "How long've you two been listening?"

"Mme. Pascal wishes me to inform you that supper is ready," said Javert. "Thank you," said Eponine. She tied a ribbon on the end of Azelma's braid. She put her arm around Gavroche and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Hungry?" she asked. Gavroche nodded. "Well, come on, then."

Later that evening, Javert sat down in his study with some case notes to look over. Downstairs, he could hear the girls singing while they helped Mme. Pascal with the dishes. He left his papers on the desk, went into his room and picked up the book he had been reading to Gavroche, and headed down the stairs. Gavroche was sitting on a footstool near the hearth in the parlor. Javert took the poker from the rack and stirred the fire into a comfortable blaze. "Thought you said you had work to do," said Gavroche. "I did," said Javert, "But I couldn't wait to find out what happened to those knights. Care to join me?" He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. Gavroche hopped onto the sofa and settled in beside Javert.

While Javert was reading, Eponine and Azelma came quietly in and seated themselves on the hearthrug. Mme. Pascal crept through the dining room and peered in from the doorway. She smiled. _Quite the family portrait we have here_.


	10. No Doubt Our Paths Will Cross Again

"Eponine," said Javert, "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

Eponine turned from the parlor window, where she had been watching Gavroche and Azelma chasing one another around the snowy garden below. "What about?" she asked.

"Have a seat," said Javert. "It concerns you and Azelma, and Gavroche especially. We've been together nearly a fortnight now."

Eponine nodded. "I know, Inspector. Now that Gavroche is back on his feet I suppose it's about time for us to go."

"Where would you go?" asked Javert.

Eponine shrugged. "Azelma and I will probably go back home," she said, "If my father will let us."

"And Gavroche?"

"Gavroche will probably end up back on the street."

"Suppose," said Javert, "He didn't have to."

Eponine tilted her head to one side. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"The truth is," said Javert, "I find I've grown rather fond of the little rascal. After bringing him back from death's door, to throw him back out on the street––it doesn't seem right. The past few days have been the happiest I've known in a very long time. Do you think he would stay with me?"

Eponine glanced toward the window. Gavroche was throwing snowballs at Azelma, the ends of a red scarf Javert had given him trailing behind him like a banner as he ran across the yard. Eponine shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Gavroche is like a wild bird. No one can bind his wings or silence his song. He can't stand to be in a cage."

"What if it wasn't a cage?" said Javert slowly, "What if instead it was a nest to come home to?"

Eponine looked back at him, a slight smile crossing her face. "I think he could live with that."

Before Javert could say anything else, Azelma and Gavroche burst into the room, rosy-cheeked and breathless from their winter frolic. "It's snowing!" Gavroche announced. "Mme. Pascal says it's the first night of Carnival," said Azelma, "Can we go, Inspector?"

Javert looked from her eager eyes to Gavroche's glowing face. "May we, please, Javert?" asked Eponine. Javert smiled. "We'll go directly after supper."

…

The streets of Paris were ablaze with light for Carnival time. Vendor's carts lined the streets, selling all kinds of treats and trinkets. Street performers in colorful costumes danced through the squares and filled the air with music. Ordinarily Javert would have preferred to spend Carnival at home by the fire in peace and solitude, but as he watched Azelma and Eponine gaze in wonder at the sights around them, and Gavroche race eagerly ahead, he was glad he had brought them.

Before Javert realized it, all three had disappeared into the crowds. He began to search frantically for them, and finally found Eponine and Azelma standing in front of a platform where a magician was giving a performance. Gavroche was onstage next to him, pulling out a card from the fanned out deck the magician was holding. "Now," said the magician, "Show your card to the good mesdames and messieurs, but do not show it to me." He turned his head over his shoulder and closed his eyes; Gavroche held up the three of hearts. "Now put it back," said the magician. He shuffled the cards, picked up the top one, and held it up for the audience to see. "Is this your card?"

"Yes!" said Gavroche. The audience applauded. The magician shook Gavroche's hand, and the boy hopped off the stage.

"Now, for my next trick," said the magician, putting his hand in his pocket, "I shall need…Where is the magic handkerchief?"

Eponine turned to Gavroche. "Gavroche, give it back!" she said. Gavroche pulled the handkerchief out of his sleeve and sheepishly handed it back to the magician. The magician smiled. "Monsieur, it seems, is a better magician than I am." He trailed the handkerchief over his sleeve, snapped his fingers, and pulled a red rose out of his cuff. "For you, Mademoiselle," he said, handing the rose to Eponine, She took it, blushing.

As the magician finished up his act, Javert made his way toward the runaway siblings. "Pastries, anyone?" he asked, holding out a sticky paper bundle. As they walked along munching _pains au chocolat_, someone called Gavroche's name. The boy turned; his face lit up. "Grantaire!" he yelled. He ran over to the young man and threw his arms around him. "Good to see you again, my friend," said Grantaire.

Eponine touched Javert's arm. "Inspector," she said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For taking us in. For caring for Gavroche. For letting us stay with you."

"Eponine, you don't have to leave."

"Yes, I do," she said quietly, "But I can't speak for the others."

Javert watched her walk away until he lost her in the crowd of people. He turned around. Gavroche was nowhere in sight. Neither was Azelma. "Gavroche?" he called, "Azelma? Where are you?" He walked quickly, scanning the crowds. He could not say how long he spent wandering through the winding streets, looking for any sign of them, but at last he gave up. Shoulders slumped, he trudged homeward. The gate creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open. In the snow beside the walkway, something caught his eye. A slim finger had etched a single word in the snow: _Merci. _Underneath was a small handprint. Javert crouched down and covered the handprint with his own hand. A smile tugged the corner of his lips. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes, straightened up, and went inside. He scraped the snow from his boots, hung up his coat and hat, and sat down in the armchair by the parlor fire.

Mme. Pascal came in. "Where are the children?" she asked.

"They're gone."

"Gone? Aren't you going to look for them?"

"I have. If they wanted to be found, I would have found them."

He propped his chin on the back of his hand and stared into the fire. "No doubt our paths will cross again," he said.

**The end! But it's not really the end. Expect to see a sequel sometime in January. Happy Halloween to those who celebrate Halloween! To those who don't, happy All Saints' Day! To those who celebrate neither, happy unbirthday!**


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